


Flower and Sun

by prouvairism



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Friendship, Feelings, Florist Fauntleroy, Flowers, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Modern Era, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Jehan Prouvaire, Other, Poet and Photographer Jehan Prouvaire, nonbinary fauntleroy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-22 23:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16607144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvairism/pseuds/prouvairism
Summary: Fauntleroy could also compare Jehan Prouvaire with the Sun. Their orange hair, still brighter in the majestic light of day, framed by a magical glow. The skin covered with millions of freckles, which looked more like little red stars, adorning the rosy sky of their skin. Jehan was a poet, but they were also poetry in the form of one truly beautiful person.





	Flower and Sun

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing a story for this pairing. Perhaps it will become a new thing for the rare pairs community. The poem used in this story is called "Sunflower" and it was written by me. You may find me on Instagram, by the url "letrasfloreadas". You may find me on tumblr by the url prouvairism or thefloralpoem.

**Flower and Sun**

**by prouvairism**

* * *

  

"Can I photograph your flowers?" they ask, with a lovely shyness beneath the floppy hat.

"Hm?"

"Please, may I photograph your flowers? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but at this exact spot where your roses were planted, the sunlight that passes through them provides the landscape with the most perfect illumination, as if Apollo himself was casting a brilliant veil over a lovely group of nymphs and I simply can’t miss this opportunity, you see?”

Fauntleroy laughs. Jehan was always poetic and a little bit dramatic too, no matter what they said.

"Take as many pictures as you want."

Jehan loved to visit the outside of the cottage where Fauntleroy now lived. After a long time in difficulties, they were finally having the life they deserved. With enthusiasm and their happy laughter, the poet photographed the most beautiful roses their eyes could see.

Fauntleroy thought it a good coincidence that Jehan's long shirt was covered with roses too. It was as if their friend were part of their beloved garden. This thought made them blush. However, Jehan was not theirs. Jehan was a free spirit, of unreachable beauty and sweetness. 

Fauntleroy could also compare Jehan Prouvaire with the Sun. Their orange hair, still brighter in the majestic light of day, framed by a magical glow. The skin covered with millions of freckles, which looked more like little red stars, adorning the rosy sky of their skin. Jehan was a poet, but they were also poetry in the form of one truly beautiful person.

When the will to photograph was sated, Fauntleroy's object of admiration returned the attention to them.

"You’re so quiet, Faun. Am I bothering you with something?"

"Not at all, I just got lost in my thoughts, don’t worry. Are you done with your pictures so we can have some tea?”

“Sure, let’s just go to the porch.”

They gather at the porch table for fresh tea, homemade cookies that Fauntleroy had prepared in the morning and spend some more time together before Jehan has to go, for the florist’s disappointment. 

"Oh, we forgot the cream."

"It's in the fridge, if you want some!"

"I'll be back in a minute!"

Jehan goes back inside to get the cream, leaving a little notebook on the table. Fauntleroy gets curious with the glittering floral cover, picking it up for a moment, dropping a loose piece of paper that was inside it. They immediately pick up the paper on the floor, unable to avoid reading what was written on it:

 

> _Come to me, o glorious flower_  
>  You who carry the warm of the sun  
>  In your petals of yellow silk   
>  'Cause I know, you're the one.
> 
> _Now my heart pined away with love,_  
>  And I fear this is too much to bear  
>  Release me from my sweet torment  
>  Let your voice turn to music in the air.
> 
>  

This would be just one of Jehan's various poems they have read and wouldn’t have so much significance, if it were not just down the page, a simple dedication with the words "to Faun” on it.

Fauntleroy felt their face getting warmer and their heart felt to skip a beat. Suddenly their fingers seemed colder and weaker, and it wasn’t until they realized that a smile appeared on their face.

Jehan Prouvaire, adorable, charming Jehan Prouvaire had written a poem for them.

"I didn’t know which one to bring, so I brought these tw...”, they were back to the porch, holding two cups of cream and realizing that Fauntleroy had their paper on their hand.

If Fauntleroy had read a verse they wouldn’t need effort to notice that it wasn’t a simple poem for a friend. And Jehan didn’t know what they saw in Fauntleroy’s expression now. Disappointment? Well, they couldn’t handle it, it was too embarassing and humiliating. They could feel their face going red and any trace of courage leaving their body, deciding to avoid their friend’s gaze.

“Jehan...”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to know that, but it's been some time since I've been interested in you like this. And I just want to say that I’m not expecting anything. I like to be your friend and to be able to see you and meet you for tea or go to museums or seek flowers and what I want less  is to make you uncomfortable. Or that you don’t want to hang out with me anymore because of it.”

“Jehan”, the tone of their voice had changed, to a slightly reprehensible one. The poet looked up, waiting for Fauntleroy to get up, leaving the paper and notebook on the table.

"I'm not a poet. I just understand ornamental flowers and arrangements...”, they say, holding one of Jehan's hands, with some difficulty looking at them so closely now. In the late afternoon light, their face still seemed dazzling. “But I need you to let me tell you that I'm interested in you as well. 

“Y-You are?”

“Mm. And I want to continue to be your friend, to bring you flowers and go to museums with you to learn facts you know better than historians, to see the stars, to hear you recite poetry in the bar that you go with your other friends, I still want it all, but I also want to hold your hand and draw circles with my thumb on your skin, I want to stroke your hair as if I’m touching pure gold and to kiss your face until my lips have touched every freckle you have in it. This is ok? Is this what you want from me?”

“Yes!” Jehan brought them to an embarrassed tender hug, sighing deeply in pure joy and relief, daring to caress Fauntleroy's soft curls. "I'd really like that, Faun. I really like you."

“And I really like you, Jehan.”  

That same afternoon, on top a colorful towel in the grass, with day shades turning paler to welcome a starry and romantic night, Fauntleroy leaned their head on Jehan's shoulder and the two intertwined their fingers, allowing the moon to witnessed the joy of a newfound affection, as perfect and enthralling as a field of sunflowers.


End file.
